


Standardized

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Hazing, Interrogation, M/M, Mild Gore, Sticky Sex, Torture, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blurr graduates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standardized

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

Longarm kissed him without a single word. He was very drunk, and it showed in his technique, but Blurr, sober as ever, was so giddy that he could not have cared less. They kissed and kissed again, and when they finally returned to the party it was with brushing hands and hips, secretive and special, and Blurr was higher than he had ever been before. He could hardly field the questions regarding his degree, the jovial pats and shouts from his inebriated colleagues (a word he was still unused to using, but it felt exciting between his jaws) hardly registering.

Of course, Longarm took all his congratulations with ease, helm held high, as always. Watching him now made Blurr’s spark swell with something akin to pride, his grace a bright garnish to his own accomplishments. He had been chosen by Longarm. Him, and no one else. It felt both incomprehensible and overbearingly natural, as if they had been made for this exact moment, destined to find one another and interlock sparks since the moment of their creations.

After the party they went home together, Blurr’s small flat just spacious enough to contain their passion. Longarm had stopped several times, nervous, asking if they were moving too fast, and Blurr could only laugh. They could not have moved fast enough for him, never enough. They made love for several cycles, although neither one took much notice of the time, and when they were done they walked down to a corner store, wet from the shower, and bought as good a cylinder of high grade as their combined reserves could afford.

“If you had told me all this would happen in one day, today, I wouldn’t have believed you, and I know that’s a cliché thing to say but I really wouldn’t have.”

Blurr traced small concentric circles on the plating of Longarm’s forearm, comfortably curled around his waist, and the wide bot tugged him closer, snuggling deeper into the berth pad as he swirled the remnants of his cube.

“I must admit to feeling the same way. To be honest, I’m a little surprised I even passed my final exams, much less managed to…” he trailed off, glancing down for a moment, embarrassed, “that you would have said yes to my proposition.”

Laughing lightly, Blurr pecked his cheek, lifting the cylinder to pour out another round for them both.

“Of course I would! And I find it hard to believe that the exam was even hard for you I mean, and not to sound overly flattering, you are one of the smartest bots I have ever met, I mean it, I know you like to downplay it a lot because you’re really modest and that’s really sweet if you don’t mind my saying so but you are, you really are, and you deserve to have gotten into the managerial running like that. I mean, imagine if, no, _when_ you become a Prime! That’s-that’s-that’s amazing!”

Longarm rolled over, adjusting his arms to remain entwined around Blurr, giving him a long look.

“Being an upper level Intel agent isn’t exactly something to sniff at, my dear.”

Blurr’s smile fell.

“No, it isn’t. But your accomplishments are in no way degraded by that.”

“I know you don’t like talking about the tests,” Longarm cupped his face, “and you don’t have to. I’m just… I’m very proud of you, Blurr.”

“It’s nothing to be very proud of. You just have to keep your mouth shut. I know that seems like an accomplishment for me, and everyone was sure I would fail, but I knew. It’s not like they really- like they really hurt us anyways. It’s all wires and plugs and false sensations built by that computer program Perceptor designed. It isn’t real peril. It’s not the way it will really be in the field.”

He rubbed his arms, as if suddenly cold. Longarm sighed.

“The job is about more than pain and endurance. You are intelligent, and fast, and strong. I have seen you spar. You know more than many of your comrades ever will.”

“Don’t be so sage,” Blurr smacked him a bit, mood lightening, “you sound older than you should, mister second-youngest-bot-in-the-running-for-Prime-ever!”

They kissed again.

* * *

 

Everyone was both hung over and yet still overly enthusiastic the next day. Technically the ceremony hadn’t and would not occur until the next deca-cycle, and the time they had between now and then was to be used finalizing their training, brushing up on anything they felt they still needed work with and acclimating themselves to the upper level halls in the Fortress where they’d soon be working. Blurr and Longarm, though in different divisions, managed to find themselves bumping into one another many times a cycle, often in dark, secluded places where their bumping escalated into something better left in private. It was wonderfully surreal.

The cadets met their division leaders in official capacity for the first time. Blurr was a little shocked at Highbrow’s demeanor, given how Longarm had badmouthed him in the past (as much as Longarm could badmouth anyone; really, he was a timid creature through and through). Truly, he wasn’t the lovably crusty war veteran that Kup was, but he seemed no more or less starchy and sharp as the other Primes. Longarm assured him that being in close quarters with him would change his perspective. He had been working with Highbrow for a long time in his training and the mech supposedly had what he called ‘a darker side’, though he could not explain how so. Blurr called him sensitive and flicked his nasal ridge.

They all registered again, under their new shiny official titles, and received their new identification cards, freshly molded and still smelling of the press. He held Longarm’s between his teeth as he rode his spike, laughing and squealing while Longarm kissed his knuckles.

“Secret Agent Blurr,” read Longarm off his ID, “Secret Agent Blurr of the Elite Guard.”

* * *

 

When he arrived in his apartment, he immediately knew something was wrong. It was not so much from a tangible clue than a feeling, a coldness that crawled down his back strut like the flat side of a knife. Blurr walked into the kitchen and sat down, in the dark, and listened.

He could hear the screech of brakes and tires outside, the thrum of liquid in the pipes in the walls, and, loudest of all, the high whine of his spark as it pounded against its housing. He was going to be an agent. He was going to change things. He was going to live in a bigger apartment with better things and a happier life, and he was in love.

But he was so scared he could hardly breathe.

Perhaps that was it. He knew, and had known for some time now, of his reservations. It was not something built off past experience or even real anticipation. His anxieties often seemed to spring from nothing at all and it was hard to explain, even to Longarm, what it meant and why, much less how to deal with it. He buried his face in his hands and smiled wryly. Things were going to get better because he said so. He was going to make things better. That alone could lift his spark.

He got a drink and stared out the window at the lights of the city for a while. It was, in its own way, beautiful. He was from a city, but not this one - one very far away and very different. Cities in their own right were all fundamentally the same, though, and for a while he allowed, _forced_ himself to blot out his other feelings and focus on these similarities, on the things he had escaped and the new troubles he faced. It was mind numbing and he liked that.

The hands came out of nowhere. His drink spilled as his knees hit the underside of the table, toppling everything, wheels spinning as his instinctual urge to run took over. It had been anticipated, though, because his attacker – attackers – lifted him straight off the ground, pulling his helm to the side and pinning his flailing arms behind his back with little difficulty. He screamed.

_“Get off me! Get off me, Primus beneath me, help me, get off of me!”_

Somebody was squirming a hand between his thighs.

“Put him on the table first. Mind the feet.”

He knew that voice.

“Gimme the cuffs. There. That’s it.”

He kept screaming but nobody seemed to care. One of them, green, blue, something tropical and bright, righted the table and he was slammed face first into the top. His legs were spread. He kicked back out of the grip, landing a solid blow on whoever was behind him and was gratified to hear the deep crack of an internal strut followed by a cry of pain.

_“Slaggit!”_

The hand on his helm slammed his jaw into the table top and held him there while they hit him. He was unable to retaliate, to feel anything beyond the split moments of agony as his face and gut were pummeled until the mesh was pitted and leaking. One of his optics cracked, half blinding him, and he bit his tongue so hard it nearly severed.

“You’ll be a good bot, then?”

“By the Allspark,” said Blurr, wheezing in panic as he looked up at Highbrow Prime, “by the Allspark!”

“Let’s get right to the point then,” Highbrow adjusted his optical focus, leaning in on the fluid splattered metal, “you studied under Kup, correct?”

Panting, Blurr flopped against the hands still holding him, tugging at the cuffs that looped through his wheels to spread him to the table legs, the chain around his wrists that cut into the metal with what could only be the bite of tiny saw teeth. He had seen weapons like this in the Guard artillery room. He had trained with them. These were Elite bots.

“I asked you a question.”

The bot behind him grasped his antenna so hard the metal buckled and he bit his lip until it bled, holding back a wail.

“Wh-what’s going on by Primus what are you doing why are you doing this Highbrow Prime Primus Highbrow what is happening what did I do I didn’t do anything I didn’t oh please Primus-!”

“Answer the question, fool!”

He was lifted by the now crippled wires of his crest and slammed back into the hard metal.

“Yes! Primus please stop yes I worked with Kup he was my training officer as a cadet he was everyone in my class’s teacher everyone know that w-why are you asking me?”

“Because sometimes bots lie.”

Highbrow leaned in a bit, smiling quietly. Blurr’s working optic rolled in its socket. He could not understand what was happening, only the very real sensation of pain keeping him from desperately hoping it was a dream.

“You wouldn’t lie to a superior officer, would you?”

Swallowing his own energon, Blurr gaped.

“I- I don’t understand.”

Highbrow sighed as if it pained him to do so, as if Blurr had just made a horrible mistake despite all his helping and he was being forced to punish him for it despite not wanting to.

“I will make things painfully simple then, as you seem to be of simpler mind than your test scores suggest. I want information from you, and you are going to give it to me, understood?”

It was wrong. Blurr knew it was wrong. This was not the proper setting, the proper scenario, the correct series of questions and formalities leading up to a proper report. He was hurt. He was frightened. Highbrow Prime and some other bots, bots he had never seen before, without the red wings blossoming from their Autobrands, were in his apartment and they were hurting him.

“No,” he whispered, and then spoke louder, “no! I don’t know what you’re playing at, what this is, but no, no I will not give you answers, I don’t know what you want or why but this is, this is, this is not right!”

“Ah.”

Highbrow braced his hands on the table and stood.

“Again, for someone sent to me with a reputation of being so smart, that was an incredibly stupid answer.”

The bot to his left kicked the back of his knee, hard. It was no pain he hadn’t experienced before but it was still a sensitive place and he grit his teeth and spat pink.

“What do you want, Highbrow?”

“Using my designation only? How informal!”

The Prime moved further back into the kitchen, behind his field of vision. He could hear, acutely, the aimless rustling as the mech opened his pantry, shifted through his drawers. He was throwing things to the ground, some sort of show of power, easy destruction.

“I’m just- just a cadet,” he said, a little too quickly and too high, “I don’t have anything you want. I couldn’t possibly.”

There was no answer, simply more violent sound as his utensils were discarded across the floor.

“I’m not a criminal, I’ve never even been in trouble with the law, not for anything! You can’t possibly think I-I-I have some sort of secret to keep, access to information you, as a Prime, as the Intelligence Agency’s Prime, wouldn’t have had cycles before! I don’t even have the upper level passcodes yet, I just got my badge, I-!”

“Did you find Kup to be a good teacher?”

The question was so left field that it took Blurr a moment to process.

“I…”

“Mmm.”

Highbrow’s voice was suddenly very close, and Blurr felt a wash of air, warm and painful against his warped neck.

“Not a good answer.”

The pain was incredible and sudden and Blurr’s scream was so intense that it caught in his vocalizer and shorted the mechanism out, helm thrown back against his attacker’s grip as he tried, in vain, to pull his leg away from the agony. Something, something sharp, slid gently out from the twin holes it had made in the back of his knee, dripping hot energon down his calf.

“I’ll ask again,” Highbrow said calmly, almost mockingly, “did you find Kup’s teachings as being useful? Was he a good mentor?”

Blurr’s vocalizer cracked and reset three times, shoulders shaking in a sob.

“I’m not telling you!”

Highbrow tisked.

“Not even something as simple and innocuous as that? Why, I could get that information off your annual reviews! It’s not exactly a secret.”

_“I’m not telling you!”_

  He expected the retaliation but was still not able to steel himself for the pain. The blade (his gel fork. It was a useless tidbit of information but his racing processor could not help but devote a small portion of itself to finding the culprit for his wound based on the pattern of the puncture and the objects in his kitchen, desperate to categorize and catalogue every aspect of the situation) dug back into the joint, not in the same place but right by it, managing to aggravate the older wound and tear apart a new patch of wire and plating, and this time the Prime stirred the implement around to maximize damage. Warnings blared in Blurr’s helm, the efficiency of his limb dropping in percentage by the nano-klik, sensory grid exploding with information that made his helm ache in time to the pulse of his fractured systems.

It was excruciating. By the time Highbrow had finished he thought he had lost his mind to the pain, to the fear. He wished he had, because he was only given a small chuckle before he was stabbed again, and again, for kliks that felt like cycles, until the line of punctures on the back of his leg stretched from joint to joint behind his knee. The lower half of his leg was basically immobile at this point, outwardly intact but scrambled as if by an explosion inside. The burning that shot up his thigh was enough to convince him that his leg had been consumed by fire.

“Oh Primus let me go, let me go, I can’t do this _I can’t stand it please stop by the Allspark stop!”_

“Talk, Blurr! Tell me what I want and I will do as you say.”

“No no don’t make me make that choice oh no no nononononononono!”

There was a clatter as the fork was thrown down, and then a weight against his back. The hands left his collar and were replaced with new one on his heaving waistline, smaller but harder, meaner. Highbrow folder over his back until his lips pressed against his receptor, curled as if in a snarl.

“You _will_ tell me, cadet!”

A hand groped down his aft, finding the seams of his panel and tugging. Blurr’s helm sagged against the table, swimming with sickness.

“Don’t-!”

Highbrow ripped it off without a hitch. Blurr vomited.

“That’s disgusting,” the bot on his right said. He was laughing.

“Low level filth,” whispered Highbrow, jamming a finger between the petals of his valve cover, “don’t think we don’t know where you started out, where you came from. We could have you sent even further back than that.”

“We know everything about you,” grinned the third attacker.

 _I don’t even know who you are_ , Blurr wanted to say, but he couldn’t because his helm was shoved down into his own sick and held there while they chuckled, like sportsmen over a good play. Highbrow’s fingers shoved into his valve and curled, worming around, until they came away slick.

“Nasty commoner.”

Panels were opened and he screamed as loud as he could when Highbrow’s spike forced its way inside him. He felt raw despite the pathetic attempt at lubrication and the older mech groaned as if it were the best port he’d ever plugged and it made him sick all over again.

He could not accurately judge the dimensions of the spike inside of him, because no matter how it was in a normal sense it was too big now, too long and too wide and too painful. His calipers clamped down hard to expel the intrusion and Highbrow moaned and slapped his aft as if he were begging for it, an easy lay with his legs spread willingly and not cuffed to his own kitchen table with his face rubbing through a puddle of vomit with every thrust. His neighbors should have heard him long ago. They should have called someone. The Autotroopers should be bursting through the door with lasers primed, but there was nothing.

They didn’t ask him any more questions. Highbrow slammed his hips so hard that Blurr’s stomach connected painfully with the table edge, creating a wide groove amidst the remnants of his earlier beating. He was bleeding, he realized, the puddle forming around his boots a combination of the oils and energon residue dripping down his throat and chest, the places across his belly where the impact split the mesh and wires beneath. His valve spasmed but did not tear, even when Highbrow dragged his fingers across the lips like claws, even when he withdrew momentarily to smack him as though he would soften for it. He pinched at his external node and tugged on it until Blurr’s optical feed shorted into a mass of pixilated colors and lights, systems scrambling to compensate for the pain.

Highbrow did not do him the courtesy of pulling out when he came, not until he was almost finished and could splatter the remnants of his transfluid across Blurr’s back after having filled him. He could feel it; a deep burn against his plating as if the fluid was scalding, boiling the paint off his bare metal. His shame burned even hotter and he wanted, for the first time in his young life, to die.

“Unchain him.”

He was thrown on the floor like a sack of cement and even though his legs were now free he did not fight them. His arms were still bound behind his back, an angry hand from one of the lesser attackers holding him there as if he would try and break away, but it was a demonstration more than anything else. Blearily, Blurr’s gaze me his Prime’s as a single servo tilted his chin up.

“Are you going to cooperate now, cadet? Going to be a good little agent for me?”

He was so, so tired.

Blurr spat.

“You know I can’t.”

It was almost a plea, but his face was hard.

Highbrow sat back on his heels and stared at him for a moment, considering.

“Hand me the gun.”

The mech still standing complied. The weapon was small, but at this range it was all he needed. Blurr shuttered his working optic at the cold metal found his spark casing.

“You were always so talkative in your classes, even with those who clearly didn’t enjoy your company, and yet now you can’t even spare a few words to save your life.”

He chuffed.

“You really are stupid.”

Blurr breathed in.

The gun cocked.

“But you are loyal. That’s all we really needed to know.”

The gun left his face.

“You passed the final test, agent.”

A hand clapped on his shoulder, friendly, warm. His arms were released. One of the mechs produced a medical kit and turned his helm, dabbing at the drying flakes of half-digested energon around his lips.

“only a few are offered this chance, this test. You were one of our best and brightest. I knew you would pull through, even if your technique needs some work.”

Highbrow lit up a cygar, puffing on it as pulling out a datapad absently.

“Welcome to the Elite Guard.”

Blurr breathed out.

* * *

 

“I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

Longarm kissed his cheek, smiling warmly as Blurr made his way through the door. He did not return the look.

“You know you don’t need to keep up with studying anymore, right? The tests are over, dear.”

It was meant as a joke. Blurr rubbed his optic.

“I know.”

Arms wrapped around his waist from behind.

“Blurr.”

Lips pressed against his neck.

“What’s wrong?”

He reached up to his shoulder and took one of Longarm’s hands in his own.

“I’m just. It’s been a long week.”

They moved to the couch and before long they were horizontal, still and silent, fingers weaving together in the dim light of the video screen. Occasionally Longarm would peck his cheek and he would smile quietly, gaze distant. The news was on, playing some fluffy story about the migration of animals in the wastes, the scores of the latest sports, a new bar in the lower east quadrant.

“You were right.”

Near recharge, Longarm stirred.

“What about, love?”

The pet name made him stiffen slightly, spark pulsing heavily.

“Highbrow Prime. He’s not as nice as I thought.”

“He did approve your final grades though, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Yes, he did.”

They were silent a moment more, the news droning on.

“Well,” said Longarm, voice as soft as his touch, “he won’t be Prime forever.”

And he wasn’t.


End file.
